


the one with all the bubbles

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13737630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So the thing is, he and Combeferre are together. The other thing is, no one knows yet.That doesn't stop them from anything, though.*In which there's a bubble bath, they almost get caught, and unsurprisingly things escalade.





	the one with all the bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> Shamelessly inspired by that one scene in Friends, you know the one - just with added fun.

So the thing is, he and Combeferre are together.

 

And it’s _amazing_. It’s—really fucking amazing, if Courfeyrac is being completely honest, and all of it is still new but Courfeyrac couldn’t say when the last time he felt _this_ happy was. The only thing that’s Not Great about it is that Courfeyrac is head over heels, one hundred percent, has-been-for-years in love with Combeferre and he’s pretty sure Ferre isn’t there yet. Which is fine—forty-eight hours ago they hadn’t even kissed _once_ and now they’re in the bath surrounded by candles and champagne and bubbles and Combeferre looks ethereal. Courfeyrac is so in love with him, he’s aching with it. He’s aching with happiness.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Combeferre murmurs. He sits across from Combeferre in the tub, holding his plastic cup filled with champagne—since Courfeyrac forgot to do the dishes—and smiling brilliantly.

 

Courfeyrac just smiles in return.

 

When they’d come down from their first post-orgasm high, Courfeyrac had full-blown panicked. Like, nearly lurched out of beds and ran through the halls hysterically crying, panicked. They didn’t _do_ this, and of course his heart was on the line and his stupid, overgrown crush. But then Combeferre had twined their fingers together and tugged Courfeyrac back onto the bed to rest against his chest, had pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and all of his worries had subsided.

 

It wasn’t just about sex. Courfeyrac was certain about that. Even though the sex was… mind-blowing. Earth-shattering, if Courfeyrac is being honest. And he doesn’t want to brag but honestly, he’s half convinced that their sex is the best sex anyone has ever had, ever. He kind of wants to shout it from the rooftops.

 

But their relationship isn’t just about sex—there’s feelings there, obviously Courfeyrac’s, and Combeferre’s too though Courfeyrac has yet to determine just how long Combeferre has been having feelings for him. Their relationship is. Well. It’s a relationship.

 

And it’s kind of terrifying, amidst all the exhilaration.

 

So no one knows about it.

 

There’s a lot of other reasons, mostly pertaining to the fact that their closest friends are currently in the middle of trying to get their own shit together—that whole dilemma is what got Courfeyrac and Combeferre together in the first place, honestly, but.

 

Enjolras has got enough on his mind as of these past few days. The last thing he needs is to find out his two best friends and roommates are now together and having mind-blowing sex.

 

The secrecy of it all is kind of ridiculously hot, though.

 

Anyway, Enjolras is out for the night probably panicking all over their other friends, so Courfeyrac took advantage of the empty apartment to have a romantic bubble bath together. It’s the first time they’ve been able to do something like this, openly romantic, instead of sneaking into one another’s rooms and making out or sleeping or cuddling or anything in between before waking up early enough that Enjolras remains none the wiser. It’s exhausting. Courfeyrac wants to make Combeferre breakfast in bed, wants to kiss him while they cuddle on the couch and watch movies, wants to hold his hand as they walk down the street, wants to call him his boyfriend—

 

“You’re frowning,” Combeferre notes suddenly. He lifts his free hand and places it on Courfeyrac’s cheek, thumb pressing at the corner of his lips. Courfeyrac doesn’t even care that his hand is covered in bubbles.

 

“Do you like breakfast in bed?” he says suddenly. Combeferre’s hand moves from his cheek to his jawline to his neck to his collarbone.

 

“The last thing we need is food in bed, you’re messy enough as is,” replies Combeferre very seriously. Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “When on earth do you think we’d have time for breakfast in bed?”  


Courfeyrac sighs. Under the water, he rubs his foot alongside Combeferre’s calf. “That’s the point,” he murmurs. “I’d like for us to have all the time in the world.”

 

Combeferre’s got this sad, sad look in his eyes and Courfeyrac gets the sense that he’s ruining their first romantic night, so he shakes his head and smiles broadly and shifts his head so that he can press a kiss to Combeferre’s hand. He gets more bubbles on his chin and jawline, but it makes Combeferre laugh.

 

“You look dashing in bubbles,” he says, and Courfeyrac smiles giddily.

 

“Ah, that’s the champagne talking,” laughs Courfeyrac. Combeferre rolls his eyes fondly but still leans forward enough that Courfeyrac can meet him halfway and kiss him wholeheartedly. It’s not the best angle—they break apart after a minute and just smile dopily at one another.

 

“Are you happy?”

 

The question seems to startle Combeferre. His hand is still on Courfeyrac’s collarbone, and he rubs reassuring circles into the skin. “Of course I am,” answers Combeferre. There’s a flicker of doubt residing in the corner of his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

 

Courfeyrac leans forward again. “The happiest I’ve ever been,” he says honestly. He smiles just slightly as Combeferre leans forward to kiss him again.

 

They startle apart at a knock on the bathroom door. “What the _hell_?” Courfeyrac hisses. Combeferre’s eyes are wide with panic.

 

“Uh, hey?” calls Enjolras’s voice from the other side. “It’s me, can I come in?”

 

“Fuck,” Combeferre mutters—it sends a thrill right down Courfeyrac’s spine which is _not_ an appropriate response to what’s going on right now. He shoots the door one more panicked look before turning back to Courfeyrac in horror. “What do we—”

 

“Uh, just a sec!” Courfeyrac calls back cheerfully. Combeferre hisses but Courfeyrac gestures madly for Ferre to hand him his cup and to submerge fully into the water. He puts both of their cups to the side of the tub where he prays Enjolras won’t notice.

 

“Courf—!”

 

“ _Hurry_!” Courfeyrac pleads. “He knows its me, just go, go!”

 

Combeferre gives him one halfhearted mutinous glare before plugging his nose and sinking into the water just as Enjolras lets himself into the bathroom. To his credit, Enjolras doesn’t even bat an eye at the candles or the bubbles or the champagne.

 

“Long day?” he says shortly. Courfeyrac almost feels bad.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Courfeyrac lies. Enjolras purses his lips. “Are you okay? Why are you here? I thought you were out for the night?”

 

Courfeyrac prays to literal god that Enjolras will get the hell out, and soon.

 

Enjolras scowls but makes no move for the door. “I came back. Apparently Feuilly was tired of hearing me go about my problems over and over while making no move to rectify them. Which I get, but—”

 

Courfeyrac is eight-thousand percent positive he feels Combeferre’s hand slide up the inside of his thigh.

 

“Enjolras!” he squeaks, loudly, panicked, and more than a little turned on. Enjolras looks at him, startled. “I, uh. Left my book out. It’s on Combeferre’s nightstand, would you mind grabbing it for me?”

 

Enjolras looks affronted, for a moment. Courfeyrac really wishes he had it in him to feel more guilty but Combeferre’s hands are _right there_. Enjolras nods tersely and exits the bathroom without shutting the door. 

 

“Fuck!” Courfeyrac breathes, and he pushes at Combeferre’s hands until Ferre lifts his head from under the water and gasps for breath a bit. “Ferre—”

 

Combeferre’s hair is wet and there are bubbles clinging to the top and to bits of his scruff. His eyes are blown and he looks so very, very kissable and Courfeyrac wants to do so many unspeakable things.

 

“Enj was in here,” is what he snaps out instead, hushed.

 

Combeferre grins wickedly. “Love, I held the record for holding my breath the longest under water.”

 

Courfeyrac gulps thickly.

 

Enjolras’s voice rings out a few steps away from the door, and Combeferre slinks back under the water. Almost instantly, his hand is teasing at Courfeyrac’s inner thighs.

 

Courfeyrac is so, so grateful for bubbles that hide skilled boys and raging hard-ons.

 

Enjolras makes a lot of noise as he reenters the bathroom, which Courfeyrac willfully ignores. Combeferre’s ankle has snaked behind Courfeyrac’s back, pressing along his spine and pushing him forward just a bit. Courfeyrac gasps.

 

“Here’s your book,” Enjolras says. He looks strangely at Courfeyrac. “I’ll let you be, I’m sorry your day’s been rough. I think—I’m going to text Grantaire and see if he’ll meet me for dinner. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

 

Combeferre’s hand is dangerously close to Courfeyrac’s dick. Courfeyrac is positively trembling now.

 

“Nope,” he stammers. “I think—I should be good.”

 

Enjolras nods. He makes like he’s going to leave, which is _excellent_ , because the second he’s gone Courfeyrac is dragging Combeferre out of the water and sticking his tongue down Ferre’s throat. But—because the world is literally out to destroy Courfeyrac’s hopes and dreams—Enjolras hesitates at the door and turns back. “Where’s Combeferre?”

 

Courfeyrac knows he should be more panicked. He _knows_ that he should come up with some elaborate lie about where Ferre was and should try harder to _not_ be obvious, but—

 

Combeferre’s hand wraps around the base of his dick, and Courfeyrac’s vision blurs for a moment.

 

“Um, he’s out,” he croaks out. He almost starts to hyperventilate as Combeferre’s hand begins to move. Courfeyrac bites his lip to stop himself from swearing loudly, profusely. Seriously, Combeferre’s hands should be _illegal_. “He didn’t say where—”

 

Very pointedly, Combeferre’s hand tugs and twists, and his leg rubs against Courfeyrac’s hip. This time Courfeyrac isn’t able to mask the yelp that bursts from his mouth.

 

Enjolras gives him a startled look.

 

“Water was cold right there, sorry, have a good night, have fun with R, _goodnight Enjolras_!” Courfeyrac practically shouts. Enjolras shakes his head and mutters under his breath but leaves all the same, and the door shuts firmly behind him.

 

Courfeyrac gasps and plunges his hands underwater until he finds Combeferre’s shoulders and drags him messily up.

 

The angle still isn’t great—but he dives forward and kisses Combeferre desperately, with no finesse. Combeferre is grinning against his lips, probably because he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to Courfeyrac, and maneuvers them so that Courfeyrac can straddle him even in the tub and kiss him over and over and over again.

 

Combeferre keeps his hand on Courfeyrac’s dick, determined to absolutely destroy Courfeyrac’s brain. Between them, he can feel Combeferre’s dick pressing against his own leg—determined, Courfeyrac grinds upwards, elated at the way it makes Combeferre stutter and groan into his mouth.

 

Combeferre pulls at the same time his thumb strokes Courfeyrac’s tip, and the sensation is enough that Courfeyrac bucks his hips and gasps out of pleasure. Combeferre has abandoned kissing him in favor of fervently tracing his lips along the freckles splattering Courfeyrac’s chest. Courfeyrac grips Combeferre’s hair at the same time that Ferre latches onto Courf’s nipple and bites, just a bit.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Courfeyrac pants. His fingers pull on Combeferre’s short, tight curls. “How— _how_ are you—oh my god, _Ferre_ —”

 

“You’re beautiful,” Combeferre murmurs, whispering the words against Courfeyrac’s skin. They settle warmly under his heart, tucked gently into his ribcage, and Combeferre kisses right where Courfeyrac’s heart should be. “You’re so gorgeous.”

 

“You _nerd_ ,” gasps Courfeyrac, but he leans down again to kiss Combeferre’s jaw.

 

He’s learned that Combeferre is _very_ responsive to jaw kisses.

 

Courfeyrac licks at the skin where he presses his lips, then bites just enough and soothes it with more kisses. Combeferre moans. Under the water, his wrist shifts and his fingers twist along Courfeyrac’s dick.

 

Courfeyrac has a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Enjolras hasn’t left yet.

 

Then Combeferre licks very decisively from the middle of his chest up to his neck and Courfeyrac abandons all thoughts that aren’t _Combeferre Combeferre Combeferre Combeferre Combeferre_.

 

He starts giggling slightly to himself.

 

Combeferre makes a questioning noise against the base of Courfeyrac’s throat.

 

“I just—” Courfeyrac starts, but he laughs breathlessly again. “I’m covered in bubbles. Don’t I taste like soap?”

 

Courfeyrac can _feel_ the grin Combeferre breaks into, it’s pressed into his skin and Courfeyrac honestly wants to feel that for the rest of his life. His hands tighten in Combeferre’s hair again. “I hadn’t noticed,” Combeferre admits.

 

Courfeyrac is sickeningly in love with him.

 

It takes one more twist of Combeferre’s wrist and the sensation of his fingers tracing Courfeyrac’s spine before Courf comes, panting into Combeferre’s hair and trembling slightly. Combeferre’s hands never leave him, pressing against his hipbone, caressing his back, rubbing his legs. Courfeyrac feels boneless and sated and ridiculously in love.

 

“You are a god among men,” he babbles. He knows Combeferre finds it charming. “You’re literally—you’re a walking sex god and you hide behind sweaters and that was life-altering and it was just a _hand-job_ , I literally am enraptured by you—”

 

Combeferre cuts him off by kissing him soundly. “I’ve got to get the bubbles out of my hair.”

 

So they clamber out of the tub and partially dry off while they wait for the water to drain. Combeferre empties both of their glasses of champagne and places the cups on the counter, and when he turns back around Courfeyrac is on his knees with his eyes raised and his mouth twisted in a devious grin.

 

“Oh,” Combeferre murmurs, surprised and happy.

 

“I can be a sex god too,” Courfeyrac says conversationally, and very determinedly he places his hands on Combeferre’s hips and tugs him forward just enough that he can get his mouth on Combeferre’s dick.

 

Combeferre makes a strangled sound, and his fingers grip onto Courfeyrac’s curls.

 

Combeferre is focused and beautiful and breathtaking and everything about sleeping with him is incredibly hot to Courfeyrac. He drags his tongue very slowly along the underside of Ferre’s dick, then wraps his lips around the head and moves just a bit. Combeferre makes these gorgeous, breathy sounds when Courfeyrac blows him—they justmight be some of Courfeyrac’s favorite sounds—and tonight they’re interchangeable with the way Combeferre stutters out his name, or hisses out profanity. Hearing Combeferre swear always sends thrills through Courfeyrac’s spine. Everything about Combeferre is so _sexy_ —Courfeyrac wonders if he’d feel this way even if he wasn’t obnoxiously in love.

 

With his hands, he grips Combeferre’s hips until Combeferre eventually gets the message and fucks into Courfeyrac’s mouth himself. Courf’s hands settle on his thighs, on his ass, on his ribs, wherever they can, but Combeferre’s hands never leave his curls. If Courfeyrac opens his eyes, he’d be able to see the long, gorgeous lines of Combeferre’s neck as his head throws back in pleasure, or the beads of sweat that trail down his collarbone, or the way the veins in his arms pop as he tightens his grip on Courf’s hair. It’s obscene, and it’s breathtaking, and Courfeyrac is the luckiest man in the world.

 

He runs his tongue along the tip, licking up the precome there and relishing in the way he can feel Combeferre’s entire body shiver.

 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Combeferre hisses, and Courfeyrac lets out a moan. Combeferre twitches, fingers curling.

 

Courfeyrac could get used to this for the rest of his life.

 

Combeferre tugs forcefully on Courfeyrac’s curls—by now, Courf has learned that’s Ferre’s way of signaling he’s close to coming when he’s unable to speak. Encouraging, Courfeyrac grips Ferre’s hips again and runs his thumb along the hipbones, smoothing out the pace in which Combeferre fucks into his mouth. His tongue traces from base to tip as best he can, and then—

 

Combeferre shudders forcefully, pulls helplessly on Courfeyrac’s curls and shoulder, and comes with a shout.

 

Courfeyrac coaxes him through his orgasm, swallowing and pressing reassuringly against Combeferre’s thighs, until Ferre sags a bit and Courfeyrac pulls off. When he stands up, Combeferre practically collapses onto him, despite the fact he’s a lot taller and they’re both standing up. Courfeyrac laughs, and runs his hand along the side of Combeferre’s face, before kissing him long and dirty for a good moment.

 

Eventually they clamber into the shower. Combeferre is too tall for Courfeyrac to wash his hair, which Courf pouts about, but while he properly treats and moisturizes the curls Courfeyrac lathers their bodies in soap and takes his time appreciating the hard lines of Combeferre’s body and the intoxicating curves of his tattoos. Combeferre washes Courfeyrac’s hair, because he actually can, and they kiss lazily under the stream of water until it starts to run cold and it’s time to get out.

 

While Combeferre wraps his hair, Courfeyrac blows out all the candles, and they tidy up all the evidence of their romantic evening. It’s horribly domestic. In all his relationships, Courfeyrac hasn’t ever done anything like this. He’s been romantic, sure, and he was good at sex—but it’s different with Combeferre. With Ferre, it’s more than eager sex on silk sheets and casually sweet acts. It’s coffee in the mornings and doing laundry together, and cleaning up a room without having to say a word, and kisses exchanged in between chapters of books, and a promise of a future. They’ve been together for forty-eight hours—forty-eight mind-blowing, heart-stopping, life-altering hours. But Courfeyrac feels like it’s so much more than that. Maybe it’s because they’ve been friends for so long. Or maybe it’s because Courfeyrac has loved him for ages.

 

Or maybe it really is just the thrill of keeping it secret.

 

Whatever it is, Courfeyrac is drowning in it, but he still can’t get enough. He wraps his arms around Combeferre’s waist from behind and presses a sleepy kiss on top of the moth tattoo on his shoulder. Courfeyrac thinks, _I love you_.

 

But he doesn’t say it. Not yet, at least.

 

Combeferre twines their fingers together and raises them so that he can press a kiss of his own to Courfeyrac’s wrist. Domestic, soft, perfect. Courfeyrac’s heart is full.

 

“Shall we go to bed?” Combeferre suggests.

 

As if Courfeyrac could ever turn him down.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://feuillyys.tumblr.com) crying abt les mis or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tannscotts) posting about various things.
> 
>  
> 
> comment, kudos, bookmark below!


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